


Draco and Hermione’s Mistletoe Mania

by toxicblondie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Comedy, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Office, Office Party, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27841681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicblondie/pseuds/toxicblondie
Summary: Hermione and Draco have been coworkers at the Wizard Legal Aid Agency for the past five years. Their only form of communication takes the shape of angsty e-mails and childish office pranks. Tired of their attitude, their boss assigns them to the newly created Party Planning Committee and tasks them with the organisation of the annual office Christmas Party. Will they manage to avoid setting their office building on fire?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. The Party Planning Committee

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to this little advent calendar fic. I’m already late because we’re on December 2nd, so I’ll be posting until December 25th! Each chapter is written on the day of posting, so please forgive any mistakes.  
> This is a fun and light-hearted fic — The Lasting Prejudice is rather dark, and I wanted to take a little break from that. If you follow The Lasting Prejudice, don’t worry though, I’m keeping up with the weekly chapters — I have already written the next three, so this shouldn’t be an issue.  
> Happy holidays to you all!

_November 30 th, 2007_

From: Hermione Granger

To: Draco Malfoy

Subject: Belmore brief?????

Are you dating that brief??? You’ve had it for days now, I need it!!! Return it now or I’ll hex you.

* * *

From: Draco Malfoy

To: Hermione Granger

Subject: Re:Belmore brief?????

No, I’m dating the cute little intern. Who are you dating, Granger? Your latest romance novel? How sad. The brief has already been deposited in your file box. It’s not my fault you’re incompetent.

P.S. Is your obsessive punctuation a sign of your complete and total lack of sexual life? You should look into that ;)

* * *

From: Hermione Granger

To: Draco Malfoy

Subject: THERE’S NOTHING IN MY FILE BOX!!!!

Dating interns now? Creep.

P.S. Why are you so obsessed with my sex life, Malfoy? I should tell that intern girlfriend of yours.

* * *

From: Draco Malfoy

To: Hermione Granger

Subject: Oh, that’s right, I told my girlfriend to pass it along to you…

… you should take it as an opportunity to ask her for tips on how to be attractive!

P.S. I’m just expressing legitimate concern as a coworker. Wouldn’t want you to explode during the Belmore court proceedings, now, would we?

* * *

Hermione sighed and slammed her laptop shut in a fit of rage. She left her cramped office, a dark cloud looming over her disorganised hair and walked over to the cubicle assigned to their latest intern.

“Malfoy says you have the Belmore brief,” she stated impatiently, tapping her foot on the floor.

“Uh… yes, he told me to hand it to you,” managed the intern, visibly terrified.

“And you haven’t done it because? You let your boyfriend order you around?”

“I’m sorry?” She seemed genuinely confused.

“Malfoy, your boyfriend. He told you to keep the file just to rile me up, didn’t he? Don’t you have any qualms? You’ve been here a week and you’re already sleeping your way up.”

The poor intern seemed so shocked she burst into tears — only then did Hermione realise what Malfoy had done. She looked up and noticed that, across from their office floor, her arch-nemesis was laughing his head off.

“Oh, I’m going to kill that ferret,” she vociferated, snatching the file from the intern’s hands. She paid no attention to the girl’s breakdown and stomped over to Malfoy’s office.

“Did you just really pretend to date that poor little girl to rile me up? That’s classy, arsehole. You just caused her to breakdown!”

“Oh, Granger, I’m not the one who acted like a jealous girlfriend and brought her to tears, now, am I?” retorted Malfoy, laughing so hard he nearly fell from his chair. “I never thought it would have worked so well. You’re too easy to fuck with!” He was nearly out of breath and had a hard time getting that last sentence out.

“Not like a _jealous girlfriend_ , you git, like a _pissed off coworker_. But I guess you’d never be able to tell the difference, since you’ve slept with half the women in this office,” she countered. She swatted him with the file and stomped back to her office.

“You wish that count included you, don’t you!” was the last thing she heard him shout before slamming her office door shut. She sat in her chair and opened the file — all the pages had been rearranged and left in complete disarray. Hermione felt her rage boil and simmer inside her, but decided to be the mature one and overlook Malfoy’s hundredth childish prank of the year.

She managed to get roughly five minutes of work done before hearing her boss’ voice shout hers and Malfoy’s names. She begrudgingly got up and walked across the office. Malfoy was already there.

“Yes, Mr Clarke?” she asked innocently.

“Have a sit, Granger, I’m not in the mood,” barked their boss. “So, our new intern, Megan, just quit. Either of you care to tell me why?”

“Presumably because Malfoy dumped her. You know, he really shouldn’t be allowed to be around our younger female staff,” smiled Hermione.

“Shut it, Granger. You know I never dated her,” spat Malfoy.

“Should I pull out our e-mail records? Because you clearly called her your girlfriend! And she quits five minutes later? Surely it can’t be a coincidence.” Hermione was feeling incredibly smug.

“ _You’re_ the one who made her cry, for Morgana’s sake. Come on, boss, you’re not going to believe her, now, are you?”

“Shut it, the both of you,” barked Clarke. This was really the only way he knew to express himself — interestingly, his physical appearance was not that far off from a dog’s either (if Hermione had to guess, perhaps a Doberman). “I already know you pretended to date her (he pointed to Malfoy) and you took your frustration out on the poor girl (he pointed to Hermione). I’m appalled at your behaviour. This is Hogwarts-level shit, and I’m not going to stand by it anymore. That poor Megan needed the internship for her law degree, and you both used her as a pawn in your little prank war.”

“Just fire him! I’m better at this job than he is anyway,” argued Hermione. Not her finest moment, but her arse was on the line.

“Oh fuck y—” shouted Malfoy, before being interrupted.

“I’m not firing anyone, Granger. You two are my best solicitors, as much as it pains me to say it. Here are your options: either one of you quits, or you both join the Party Planning Committee,” offered Clarke.

“The what?” asked Malfoy.

“The Party Planning Committee. I just created it. See, our office Christmas party is coming up, and the interns usually take care of setting it up. _But we don’t have an intern anymore, now, do we?_ ” Hermione blushed, feeling guilty. “So, I’m putting you both in charge.”

“You can’t do that!” Hermione and Malfoy had both yelled at the same time.

“Oh I can. And I will. You will not only plan the party, but you will do so nicely. No pranks, no blowing up the building. It’s this, or one of you quits.” He leaned back in his chair, and Hermione could have sworn his smug face had turned into a snout for a brief moment.

“I’m not quitting,” she said.

“Well neither am I.”

“It’s settled then. You will plan the Christmas party, together. I want to see you work as a team on this — and if I can smell even a whiff of pranking or misbehaviour, I’ll have you _both_ fired,” he warned. “Now, off with you. I’m tired of seeing you two wankers,” he concluded, dismissing them with his hand.

Hermione rushed out of the office first, though Malfoy followed closely.

“Alright, Granger, you’re a girl, just organise the party and don’t tell Clarke,” he said once they were out of earshot.

“Oh no you won’t. If you refuse to help me out, I’ll throw a Gryffindor themed party,” she warned, pointing a finger at his face. The ferret wasn’t going to dupe her and get away with it.

“You wouldn’t,” he replied, shocked. He had brought a hand to his chest for added dramatic effect.

“Don’t think I won’t. You’ll stick to the deal we just made or you’re welcome to quit.”

“Whatever, Granger. I’ll help. Just don’t regret forcing me into it,” he relented, winking at her, before walking away.

 _Just you wait_ , thought Hermione. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight either.


	2. Urgent Meeting

_December 3 rd, 2007_

Draco Malfoy had been faced with an impossible dilemma when he joined the Wizard Legal Aid Agency: sell out or find it in his heart to work in the same building as Hermione Know-It-All Granger. His desire to erase his father’s legacy from history surpassed his hatred of the damn woman and he thus became her coworker. He hadn’t regretted his choice, until now. Working in close quarters with her for the next month was going to be torture — worse than when Bellatrix Lestrange taught him Dark Magic. Yes, he meant it. No, he was not exaggerating. Not even a little bit.

That morning, he headed to the office with much more apprehension than he usually did. The idea of seeing that hurricane-styled woman would have brought him to tears if he wasn’t such a strong man. He’d been hugged by Voldemort and lived to tell the tale, after all. He opened his laptop and noticed he already had an e-mail.

* * *

From: Hermione Granger

To: Draco Malfoy

Subject: Party Planning Committee

I’ve booked the conference room at 3 pm for our first PPC meeting. No, you do not have anything planned at this time. Don’t even try it.

* * *

He sighed. She was even more insufferable than she had been when they were at Hogwarts — if that was even possible.

When the time came for their meeting, Draco dragged himself out of his office. It was like the strength of Granger’s annoying-ness was pulling him. Mary, the coworker he had slept with a couple of weeks ago, tried to greet him as he passed by her cubicle, but he ignored her. Hurricane Granger was spoiling everything he enjoyed — and she hadn’t even done anything yet. Well, except if you considered that the sole fact that she existed count as doing something. And, for her, he would have to say “yes, of course”.

He reached the conference room by 3:02 — he had managed to take two entire minutes to cross the office floor, when it usually took him all of thirty seconds. He was proud.

“You’re late,” commented Granger.

“I am, Your Insufferableness. I tried being even later than this, but my office isn’t far enough yet.”

She shook her head, visibly appalled, but didn’t insist on arguing. _Progress_ , thought Draco as he sat down across from her.

“So, I was thinking we should just do something simple so we can be done with it quickly,” she suggested.

“Well, for once, we are in agreement.”

“We have a budget of twenty Galleons, so maybe just a Christmas tree, some pumpkin juice, brownies and a couple of decorations?”

Draco was outraged. “Pumpkin juice? Brownies? Simple does not have to mean vulgar, you know.”

“What’s vulgar about brownies and pumpkin juice?” she asked, clicking her tongue in exasperation.

“Well, for one, pumpkin juice does not have any alcohol in it. And I’m not one to suffer through an _office Christmas party_ sober.”

“Fine, we’ll have some Fire Whiskey and be done with it.”

“Granger, have you no shame? Have you even heard of elegance?” mocked Draco.

Her head shot back up — she stared daggers at him.

“Instead of criticising everything, how about you make some suggestions? You’re not being helpful in the least.”

He leaned against his chair, feeling smug. Riling her up was his passion, and she was giving him far too many opportunities to do it.

“How about a wager, Granger?” he proposed.

“Whatever for? We just need to agree on a couple of things, set them up and be done with it.”

“Yes, but where is the fun in that? We have the opportunity to make the most _epic_ party this office has ever seen and you want to squander it for the sake of _brownies_? Come on now, Granger!”

She frowned and shot him a quizzical look.

“Three days ago, you were as hellbent against this as me. You tried to get me to do all the work. And now you’re talking about making it fun? Having wagers? Being epic? What the fuck are you on, Malfoy? You know hallucinogenic drugs aren’t meant to be taken when you’re at work, right?” She was scrutinising him, analysing his every move with her piercing eyes. He smiled in return — he had spent too much time learning Occlumency for her little trick to work. He didn’t want her to know he had found the perfect opportunity to make her life miserable — this Party Planning Committee wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Don’t be so suspicious now. I’m just feeling festive. So, about this wager. Are we in agreement?”

“What are the terms?” She didn’t soften, but he could tell she was intrigued.

“We’ll each have to come up with ideas for the following categories: food and drink, decorations and entertainment. Whoever comes up with the best ideas wins!”

“Wins what? And who decides which ideas are best?”

“That’s the best part. Whoever wins gets to stay — the loser has to resign and quit the agency—”

“No way!”

“Feeling like you’re going to lose, Granger? Scared of leaving your desk and actually having a life?” Malfoy laughed — Granger had turned a delicate shade of red and he revelled in the knowledge that no one but him had this effect on her. Her anger was better than his morning espresso.

“Fine. Who decides on the winner, then?” Draco was on the edge of his seat. He had managed to trap her Gryffindor ego.

“Well, how about we make our friends form a jury? Three friends each,” he offered. “Absolute majority wins the game.”

“Sounds fair. I’ll choose Harry, Ron and Ginny.”

“Blaise, Theo and Pansy will be mine,” he replied. She didn’t omit and objection — not that he would have cared — and they shook on it.

“Just one thing,” said Hermione. “Clarke says he wants us to work together on this, so I think we should still have regular meetings. Just for the sake of appearance.”

Draco groaned, despite knowing she was right. Clarke was on their arses and they had to make sure their separate preparations would go unnoticed. Besides, spending a couple of hours a week alone with Granger would give him plenty of opportunity to anger and mock her without their boss knowing. It was, all in all, a rather ideal situation for him to find himself in.

“A second agreement, and just in one day! I have to say, Granger, we’re making progress,” he said smugly.

She rolled her eyes. “You know, being a wanker isn’t on the job description.”

“It definitely is when it comes to you,” he smiled.

She ignored him, shut her notebook and got up. “Whatever makes you sleep better at night, Death Eater.” She didn’t give him an opportunity to respond — she was already out of the room. Draco felt an intense rage bubble up inside his guts — how dare she? What gave her the right?

He wanted to storm out of the conference room and give her a mouthful, but it was too late — she had already closed and locked her office door. Insufferable as she may be, she was still the Brightest Witch of her Age. And, in that moment, he hated her all the more for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of the Advent Calendar Fic! I would love to hear your theories about what’s going to happen with this wager.  
> Have a nice day!


	3. An Eye for Décor

_December 4 th, 2007_

Hermione Granger was not full of herself. She did not have an ego. Certainly not. She had not accepted this wager out of a desire to prove herself. Anyone who thought that was deluded! No, truly, she had accepted only to make sure Malfoy would be given the boot by Clarke. Yes, it was just to see Malfoy quit and have the office to herself. There was no reason to believe anything other than that motivated her choice. Any Gryffindor worth their salt would do the same, if given the opportunity. Right?

Regardless of her motivations, Hermione found herself in Diagon Alley on that dreary December evening. She was hoping for some kind of miracle to fall from the sky and hit her on the head: there was no way she was going to find worthy decorations for less than twenty Galleons, their set budget. Even the cheap animated garlands were worth nearly twice the money they had at their disposal.

Frowning, she kept wandering in Diagon Alley, unable to figure out a solution to this altogether rather simple problem. Defeating Voldemort? Piece of cake! Making Draught of the Living Dead? Child’s play! Finding the monster living in the Chamber of Secrets? A walk in the park! But figuring out a simple budgeting issue? Somehow the hardest thing she had been tasked with. She wondered for a moment how Malfoy was faring with his own quest, but she didn’t have to wait long before getting her answer. Just as she was walking by Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, she noticed her arch-nemesis walking out of Diagon Alley’s fanciest home décor shop, carrying three full bags. Careful to go unnoticed, Hermione crept up closer and tried to gauge what was in the bags — they were, unfortunately, too opaque for her to do so.

She decided her next best course of action was just to go in the shop and find out exactly what he had bought. He had cheated and spent more than the twenty Galleons they were allotted, she could feel it in her gut. It was not enough to feel it, though — she needed to be able to prove it. If she could catch him red-handed, that could count as her Christmas miracle. She’d have him evinced from both the wager and the agency.

Hermione gently walked in and was immediately noticed by one of the staff members, a plump little woman with purple hair.

“Ms. Granger! My stars, I never would have believed! You, here, in my little boutique! What an honour!” she exclaimed.

Hermione winced. Despite the nine years that had gone by since the end of the war, she still wasn’t accustomed to her status of war heroine and celebrity.

“That’s too nice, thank you,” she responded gently, careful not to offend her host. “I was actually wondering whether you could do me a little favour.”

“Why, of course, I’d be happy to!” excitedly replied the shop owner.

“Well, my friend, who just came out of your shop, the blond man — I’m looking to get him a present for Christmas, and I know he absolutely _loves_ home décor. He swears by it. But he has so much! I would hate to get him something he already has… I was just wondering whether, well… whether it would be possible for you to give me a copy of the receipt from his little shopping spree, just so I know to get him something he doesn’t have,” said Hermione, careful to weigh her words and appear as genuine as possible.

She could tell the woman seemed somewhat uncomfortable with her request.

“I really don’t mean to overstep! It’s just so hard to get presents to somebody who already has everything, you know? He’s so wealthy, I’m sure he could have bought the entire shop if he wanted to!” pleaded Hermione.

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt anybody, now, would it?” hesitated the shop owner.

 _So close!_ “Of course not! I promise, I won’t tell,” added Hermione, mimicking a shushing gesture. “You’d be doing me such a great favour! Besides, with someone as trustworthy and nice as you, I’m sure I’d be inclined to return the favour… perhaps get Harry Potter to pay you a visit?” She was laying it on thick, perhaps too thick.

The woman blushed violently and stars started to populate her eyes. Hermione hardly ever used her celebrity status this way, but to see it in action was somewhat thrilling. No, again, she did not have an ego. She was doing this for the good of the agency, and for _no other reason at all._

“You really could do that?”

“Of course! Harry trusts my judgment. Besides, he’s getting married soon, he’ll need to register somewhere, won’t he?”

“Well, then, alright!” agreed the woman, producing Malfoy’s receipt with a swish of her wand.

“Thank you so much! I’ll take a closer look at that and return once I’ve decided what to get him. I’ll bring Harry along!” offered Hermione.

The poor shop owner looked like she was about to faint. “S… sure. Thank you for being so nice,” she managed to get out.

“It’s no problem! Have a nice evening!” Hermione waved her goodbye and left the shop. She apparated back to her apartment and plopped down on one of her dining chairs to take a closer look at that receipt. Before even addressing the items, she took a look at the total amount.

 _Eight hundred and thirty Galleons?_ What was this woman selling? Lust in a bottle? The power to rule Wizarding England with one swish of a toilet brush? This was the annual income of most of their clients at the agency!

Her eyes darted back to the top and she started looking at every item listed on there. Thankfully, wizard receipts came with pictures, which certainly facilitated the process. She couldn’t be too careful — perhaps he was just looking to redecorate the manor, in which case she would be ridiculed if she tried to expose him. Fortunately for her, though, most of the listed items were for seasonal decorations. Garlands, of course, animated paper snowmen and reindeer, a night sky replica with falling snow… Most of these items could just as easily be used for him to decorate his home, though. She had to be _sure._ She slowly continued to dissect the list, hoping to find the _one_ thing that would confirm her suspicions.

It took her about a minute and a half, but there it was. Towards the end of the receipt, one row from the total amount, was listed a small wizarding figurine. It was unmistakably shaped like a tough, thick, dog-like wizard — in other words, it looked like Clarke. This was somewhat of a tradition started by the interns four years ago — each year, when came the time to plan the party, they would try to find a decoration that looked like their boss and place it somewhere most of the employees would know to look for it, but not him. There was no other reason for this to be listed on the receipt — the figurine was far too ugly for Malfoy’s bourgeois and expensive taste. It looked like something she could have fished out of a Goodwill bin. Better, even, it was listed at the cozy price of thirty-five Galleons — fifteen over budget! That alone would bury him.

Happy with her discovery, Hermione headed towards her chimney, threw some Floo powder in, and stuck her head among the ashes.

“Hey! Guess what,” she began as her interlocutor came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!! Any guesses as to who she’s talking to? Have a great day!


	4. Death of a Ginberbread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for publishing everyday until Christmas, huh? ... Anyway, I'm really sorry. As I've stated on today's note for TLP, I've been going through some pretty rough times. I just couldn't get myself to write, much less anything jolly and fun.  
> This has lost its "Advent Calendar" appeal, but I plan on finishing it! Hopefully, before January ends (so a chapter once every two days, which is more reasonable in my current circumstance).  
> Happy holidays to you all!

_December 6 th, 2007_

“You’re never going to get away with it, you know,” said Blaise as he sipped his Fire Whiskey.

“Why the Hell not? Don’t be a Debbie Downer,” groaned Draco, fully aware that his friend was right.

“You may think she’s annoying, but she’s not stupid. If you’re caught cheating, she’ll win by default,” stated Blaise neutrally.

“She’ll never catch on. She’s bright, but she’s a goody-two-shoes. She _loves_ to give wankers second chances and to believe everyone can become a better person,” boasted Draco.

“Except for you, it seems,” smiled Blaise.

“You’re a real pain in the arse, you know that? Just making me itch all over,” he spat in response, though he knew Blaise couldn’t be fooled. It was true, after all – why hadn’t that wretched woman given him a second chance? She liked Blaise well enough. And Pansy! The three of them met up once a week for their sodding _book club_. Really, of all things to do in threes… they had chosen to form a _book club._

“Is it really her fault if you behave like she’s the worst thing in the world? She has some dignity, you know,” offered Blaise as an explanation. He still had that smug smile drawn on his face – Draco wished he could slap it off.

“Whatever, Zabini. She’s annoying. I don’t get how you can stand to see her, of your own accord, once a week. Isn’t it torture?” He paused. “Come to think of it, you always were quite the masochist.” He laughed at his own joke.

“Seriously, what do you hate about her? I think she’s very nice. She’s intelligent. She can be funny, though, I’ll admit, not always on purpose. And she has some mighty nice tits,” he shrugged.

Draco was outraged. “Don’t you dare find her attractive! That’s low, even for you.” He pointed his finger squarely at his friend’s face, to emphasise on his outrage.

“You’ve slept with far uglier and far stupider is all I’ll say,” replied Blaise calmly. When it came to Granger, he never let Draco’s bad mood get to him. It wasn’t good for his digestion. “Anyway, I have that book club to get to. See ya!” He disapparated on those words, leaving his friend to simmer in his own stew of anger.

Draco Malfoy was not a man one should anger. He could be be petty, argumentative, dishonest, hypocritical, and worst of all: he could never admit when he was wrong. For once, though, he let his reason make the talking: Blaise was right. Granger couldn’t be fooled, for one. And she _was_ attractive, if you liked the bookworm kind. Sighing, he returned to the Manor and grabbed the bags of decoration he had bought two days before, intent on returning them.

As he stepped into the shop, he was greeted by the same plump woman who had sold him this mountain of overpriced crap.

“Mr Malfoy, back so soon! Do you need anything more for your Christmas party?” she asked, the perspective of him spending more of his money making her eyes gleam.

“Uh, no, sorry. I was actually hoping to return most of this,” he said coldly.

“My! May I ask why? Was anything defective?” she asked.

“Well, no. It just so happens that I learned there is an imposed theme, and nothing suits it,” he lied.

“And what might that theme be, if I may ask?” He knew if he answered this question, she would find a way to persuade him everything was in fact in accordance. He could recognise a witch with a strong sense of business when he met one.

“Doesn’t your return policy involve “no questions asked”?” he said instead of replying to her question.

The woman let her professional demeanour slip away for just an instant.

“Well, of course. I’d be happy to refund any unopened and unused items, as per our return policy,” she stated, her voice colder. Draco smiled smugly and set his bags on the counter. She plastered her professional smile back on her face and scurried back to her register. “Your friend will be disappointed to learn my shop isn’t to your taste,” she added while opening the register.

“My friend? What friend?” asked Draco, wondering what marketing ploy she was trying to use on him.

“Well, your friend, Hermione Granger, of course! She came in right after you did and asked for a receipt of your purchases. She was hoping to buy you something you didn’t own yet,” explained the shop owner as she started processing the items.

“Did she?” Now, that was interesting. Granger had manipulated that poor woman into giving out confidential information. That wasn’t something you saw every day.

“Yes! I do hope she’ll still get something nice for you. She seemed mighty happy to get you a nice present,” continued the shop owner, oblivious to what had actually happened.

Draco decided he wouldn’t let on. An unaware Granger was too useful for him to pass up the opportunity he had just been handed. Besides, he enjoyed the idea of a goody-two-shoes like her acting so shadily. It made her character refreshing – and, loathe as he was to admit it, he definitely found her more attractive for it.

“Thank you so much,” was all he ended up saying once all the items were processed and the hefty sum of eight hundred Galleons returned to him. “And a Merry Christmas to you!” he added joyfully before exiting the shop. He pretended not to notice the sour expression on her face as he left the shop.

Draco walked thoughtfully over to the Leaky Cauldron. Upon learning of Granger’s true evil capabilities, a world of possible had opened up to him. He needed to make the best of it.

He sat down at a table on the far end of the bar, in the shadow. He ordered a Butterbeer from Tom and pulled out his notebook and pen (yes, he used pens, like a damned Muggle! So what? They were practical). He brainstormed for a bit while taking a sip from his drink. The Christmas party had presented itself as the ideal thing to mess with Granger – but this. This was much better. Forget quitting the agency, forget being forgiven by Clarke. Making Granger submit to her devious and dark side was his new mission – and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make it happen. This was the Christmas miracle he deserved – and, by Morgana, he would get it.


	5. Satan is Coming to Town

_December 7 th, 2007_

Their meeting had started some five minutes ago and Hermione thought Malfoy looked too smug to her liking. She, too, was smug, but she had a reason to. What reason did Malfoy have? Did he really think he was going to get away with going over budget?

“Well, what should we discuss?” he finally said, breaking the silence.

She shot him a quizzical look. It wasn’t in his habits to be this eager to converse with her. In fact, she was perfectly happy avoiding talking to his insufferable face.

“I was thinking we might choose at least one thing together,” he suggested.

“Why would we do that?” she asked. She was looking back down at her notepad and avoided catching his look.

“The Clarke figurine should be something we both choose. It’s tradition!” he offered as an explanation.

Hermione carefully looked up to him, her eyes squinted in mistrust.

“I’m not sure what you’re up to, but I don’t like it, so I’m going to do you a favour and pretend like you never suggested it in the first place,” she responded coldly.

“Come on, Granger, what could be so harmful about us working together on picking the Clarke figurine? I can’t very well hex you in public, now, can I?” He smiled gingerly at her, which she found all the more suspicious.

“You’d be automatically disqualified from our little wager anyway, if you tried,” she mused, feeling her shoulder blades relax. He was right – though strange, this request posed no immediate threat to her.

“That’s the spirit!” he cheered, getting up from his chair.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to head to Diagon Alley so we can find that figurine, for Merlin’s sake. Come on, Clarke’s napping, he won’t notice,” he said, encouraging her to get up.

Hermione groaned but ultimately relented and followed suit. Snow had just begun to fall on the Londonian landscape, and she would thoroughly enjoy a walk while it was still fresh and white – before it turned to sludge. She barely had the time to grab her coat and scarf in her office before he pushed her out the door.

Their office was located in a quaint corner of Diagon Alley, near some of the fanciest boutiques wizarding England had to offer. Clarke had to fight to keep their space rented, and finally outright bought it two years ago, to the greatest displeasure of most of the boutique owners, who did not want their merchandise associated to the likes of the poor and the downtrodden (who formed most of the Aid’s clientele, as it were). For this reason, Draco and Hermione passed by the shops without giving them so much as a second look, choosing instead to walk towards the busiest section of Diagon Alley. They narrowly avoided the home décor shop where Hermione had spotted Malfoy a couple of days earlier, to her relief. As they approached the Leaky Cauldron, she wondered what Malfoy could be up to. They were inching closer to Knockturn Alley and most of the home décor shops were behind them by now.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her breath forming a thick white fog in the cold air.

“To an antique shop I know pretty well,” responded Malfoy dismissively.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. “Where is that shop?”

He turned around. That louder-than-life smile was still plastered on his face. She took that as a bad omen.

“Scared of going to Knockturn Alley, Granger? Think Voldemort’s gonna turn up at Barjow’s and Burke’s?” He laughed, and though it could just have been her imagination, it sounded diabolical.

“I don’t see what we could find there that we couldn’t find anywhere else,” she argued.

“It’s cheaper in Knockturn Alley. Aren’t we on a budget?”

She nearly blurted out that he was over budget but kept her mouth shut. That was a bomb she wanted to drop at the right time – which this very much wasn’t.

“Why don’t we go check out charity shops in Muggle London?” she offered instead.

She saw him wince.

“Come on, Malfoy, you’re working at the Legal Aid. You can’t tell me you’re still a bigot,” she teased him. She’d seen him work relentlessly on some of their most difficult cases, which usually involved Muggleborn wizards and Squibs. She knew his prejudices were long gone – or, at least, she hoped so.

“Fine,” he relented.

They walked in and out of the Leaky Cauldron. This time, Hermione was leading the way. As they entered Muggle London, she noticed from the corner of her eye that he seemed aware of his surroundings. He’d been here before… _Interesting._

They wandered around in silence for another five minutes before they found their first charity shop. To Hermione’s amazement, an entire shelf was filled with hideous figurines of all kinds. Surely they’d find the perfect fit here.

“Look at that one,” laughed Malfoy, pointing at the figurine of a terrier standing on his two back paws and dressed like the wizard from _Fantasia._ Hermione burst out laughing – Clarke didn’t resemble a terrier in the least, but the dog’s facial expression was dead-on, and the clothes were a dead giveaway.

They spent the next five minutes looking for dog figurines and laughing so much they had to be shushed a couple of times by the man working at the register (despite being the only ones there). They ended going back to the terrier and settling for that one – it was the closest it got to what they were looking for, and small enough to be hidden discretely somewhere in their office. It was only worth a pound, which translated to roughly a Sickle. Plenty of budget left for the rest.

As they headed back out onto the street, still laughing so hard their stomachs hurt, they noticed a home décor shop across.

“Should we go and see what they have?” asked Malfoy.

Hermione’s laugh stopped abruptly.

“What about the wager?”

Malfoy seemed confused, at first. It took him about a minute, but he finally seemed to realise what she had said.

“Right. The wager. Of course.”

Hermione frowned. How could he have forgotten? It was his idea, after all. She stared at him for a couple of seconds, but ultimately decided to act like nothing had happened. If Malfoy wanted to dig his own grave, he was more than welcome to – she certainly wasn’t going to be duped. Hermione Granger was stubborn, egotistical, strong-willed, lacked nuance, but is there was one thing she wasn’t, it was naïve. Right?

“You’re welcome to go in and take a look,” she offered. “I’ll just head back to the office.”

She didn’t wait for him to answer – she was already gone.


	6. Mischievous Mistletoe Misfire

_December 7 th, 2007_

Draco’s plan had spectacularly backfired. Not only had he failed to bring out Granger’s dark side, but he had also managed to somehow enjoy her company so much that he had forgotten entirely about the wager tying them together. In a _Muggle shop_ no less. And, icing on the cake, she had been the one to set him straight and leave him hanging! This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be wandering around Muggle London, both flabbergasted and unsuccessful. Malfoys always reached their goals!

He sulked back to the office and noticed Clarke had awoken from his nap. Fuck, this day just kept on getting worse, didn’t it?

“Malfoy!” shouted his boss as soon as he spotted him.

Draco sighed and dragged his feet over to the little glass office.

“Yes, Mr Clarke?” he asked monotonously.

“Where were you?” barked Clarke.

“Just out preparing some things for the Christmas party,” stated Draco.

Clarke squinted. “Right.” His shoulders relaxed. “Look, I’m happy you’re taking this seriously, Malfoy, but I’m warning you, the party should not overtake your usual duties here, at work.”

Draco shrugged. Just as he was about to get up, feeling defeated, Granger burst into the office.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Clarke, Draco was actually with me. We left on our break, but I tasked him to find a nice garland while I was looking for a tree and I guess he had a harder time than I did and returned later than necessary,” she explained, her hair wildly flowing around her glowing red cheeks.

Draco could only stare at her, completely gobsmacked by what she had just done. Why exactly had she taken the fall for him? Why was she using his first name? Words evaded him and he found nothing to add – he couldn’t even get himself to agree. Clarke was the one who broke the silence.

“That’s fine, Granger. I guess you’re good to go, Malfoy. I’m glad you two have managed to work together on this. Just don’t let it happen again,” he concluded, dismissing them.

Once they were out of his earshot, Draco turned to Granger.

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

“I just figured it wouldn’t be fair to let you be punished for this. You know. For the bet’s sake,” she explained neutrally.

Draco had a strong sense she was lying, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what that lie was hiding. He decided there and then that he would make it his mission to find out.

“Right. Well, thanks,” he said.

They stood there in silence for about a minute.

“I owe you one,” he added impulsively, unsure of why he even let himself be indebted to her. Call it Malfoy honour or perhaps Slytherin loyalty (though he highly suspected it was neither).

“I’ll hold you to that,” she smiled.

She returned to her office before he had a chance to answer. Draco considered that she was doing an awful lot of that lately. Granger was getting in the last word far too often – he had lost control of this situation entirely and he didn’t like it one bit.

He returned to his office and began working on a new case. He spent an hour trying to focus. Well, actually, he spent an hour _trying_ to try to focus, to put it accurately. His mind kept wandering towards Granger and her strange behaviour. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it – a million possibilities kept popping up in his mind, none of which grasped precisely the nuances of her strangeness.

By the time 7 PM rolled around, Draco had given up – on both his case and figuring out Granger. He stowed his belongings in his briefcase and headed out. The office was empty – most employees left by 5 PM, Draco included. Clarke either left with them or stayed until the next morning – there was no in-between. It seemed today, he had chosen to leave early.

Draco was inching closer to the office door and yawning. He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed light coming from under Granger’s office door. He hesitated for a moment, but his body took over and knocked before he settled on a decision.

“Come in.”

He opened the door and sat across from her, silently. She was still hunched over a case or other, paying no attention to the visitor who had just entered her office. Draco took that as an opportunity to look around – he noticed her office was bare of any decoration or photos. It was much more cramped than his, but still very much organised. Case files piled up in every corner of the office, carefully labelled and indexed.

“Gee, Granger, how many cases can you be working on at the same time?” he blurted out.

She lifted her head and stared at him. “Malfoy, what are you doing here?”

“You said to come in,” he shrugged.

“Well, yes, but you knocked. Why is that?”

“I just saw your light on. I was wondering what you were doing here this late.”

“I’m always here this late,” replied Granger, rolling her eyes.

Draco frowned. “Really? But why? Don’t you have a life?” He had meant it as a genuine question, but he realised it sounded like he was mocking her.

“Don’t ask to come into my office if you’re going to be rude,” she barked.

“I wasn’t… I… Sorry, that’s not what I meant,” he apologised, though he wasn’t sure what exactly he _had_ meant.

“What _did_ you mean, then?” It was like she could read his mind. She had dropped her pen and was looking at him straight in the eye.

“Nothing,” he struggled. “I was just curious,” he added to avoid sounding like a complete wanker.

“I’ll have you know, Malfoy, that if everyone can leave at 5 PM, Clarke included, it’s because I’m picking up everyone’s slack every single night to make sure we stay on top of things. If I left when everyone else did, we’d be drowning in work. We would never be able to take on any new cases because we’d always be overwhelmed by those we couldn’t finish on time.” She didn’t sound angry – just exhausted.

“Alright well, Granger, I think you need a break. You sound tired and worn out. I’m taking you out for a drink,” he decided.

“No thanks, Malfoy. I don’t know what’s up with you, but I’m not sure I’m enjoying all those niceties. It’s suspicious as fuck, and I’m not in the mood. Good night. Enjoy _having a life_ ,” she said sarcastically. She shooed him out of her office and slammed the door in his face. He heard her lock it.

Draco stood there, astounded. He wasn’t sure what he had done wrong. He walked out the Aid’s office and decided to take a walk before going home. The fresh December air whipped his carefully combed hair all over the place, setting his ideas into place. As he inched closer to the border of the Alley, it dawned on him that Granger, as insufferable as he had found her to be, had never _actually_ done anything wrong to him. All she had done was avoid his quips, his childish pranks and his bad moods. At best, she had defended herself, ensured the safety of her job.

With terrible guilt, Draco hid in a corner and disapparated back to a place where he felt safe, where he could process the contradicting feelings that overwhelmed him – a place that, incidentally, wasn’t home.


	7. A Christmas Fool for Dinner?

_December 9 th, 2007_

Hermione Granger was not a fool. This much was a certainty. Though she did question, some days, whether she really understood other people – and, thus, whether they had fooled her, and she hadn’t noticed.

Draco Malfoy was the perfect case study for this discussion. On this bright, yet cold, Saturday morning, Hermione laid out every bit of information she had gathered about his behaviour over the last few days. She was nothing if not perfectly methodical in her approach. Much like a detective in an old-timey movie or a police procedural TV show, she stretched bits of string across a cork board on which she had pinned post-its covered in various notes and questions. The timeline was as follows: Malfoy, who deeply hated her, had joined the Aid not long after she had. He had spent the better part of the next five years playing childish pranks on her and acting towards her with much hostility – and she had, quite honestly, retaliated just as strongly. She had befriended his closest friends at a gala, further fuelling his hatred for her. He had been forced into the Party Planning Committee with her, tricked her into entering a worthless wager, cheated on said wager, and _then_ he had started playing nice, going out to buy decorations (that he already had!) with her and trying to take her out for a drink. No matter how she looked at the board, none of it made any sense. She suspected he was trying to fool her – but how? What was his master plan? If this was it, it was the most nonsensical plan she had ever seen hatched, even for Draco Malfoy, who, loath as she was to admit it, was quite intelligent and possessed logical reasoning skills nearly on-par with hers. No, truly, this was as far from understandable as anything she had ever witnessed.

Frustrated, Hermione gave up. It didn’t matter anyway. The party was in two weeks – one of them would have to quit after, per their bet, and she already knew it wasn’t going to be her. Draco Malfoy would not be a problem anymore then, and she would finally be able to move on with her life, thank Morgana.

Looking outside the window, she noticed fresh snow had fallen. Giddy as a child on Christmas morning, she slipped on her coat, scarf and gloves and decided to go outside for a walk. She left her neat little apartment in Muggle London and chose to wander in Diagon Alley, where she suspected the Christmas decorations were finally up. As much as she loved her Muggle heritage, and despite knowing almost everything there was to know about the wizarding world, Hermione was still amazed by the intricacies of wizarding decorations. Perhaps they reminded her of a simpler time, when she was a child mesmerized by her parents’ Christmas tree, or perhaps she had never quite lost the innocence of her eleven-year-old self discovering there was such a thing as magic. Perhaps it was a little bit of both – not that it really mattered. She didn’t mind her love of Christmas – it may appear childish to others, but the things that made up the minds of children were those to be kept most preciously. They were what made life worth living and enjoying.

She was, however, disappointed to see the decorations weren’t up yet. Perhaps on Sunday. Thinking a walk out in the snow was never a loss anyway, she kept wandering around. On her way to Flourish and Botts (one could not change Hermione Granger truly, try as they might), she ran into Blaise and Pansy.

“Oh, hey,” she said gently. She noticed, as always, that they held hands, despite both being quite gay. She had learned early on that they found it easier to be each other’s beards.

“Hi Hermione,” enthusiastically replied Pansy, pressing a cold and wet kiss on her cheek.

Blaise was always more reserved, though he had taken quite a liking to Hermione as well.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m doing great,” she answered honestly. “I came to see if the decorations were up, but not yet, it seems.”

“Blame Mayor Weasley for that, he decided the 10th was the right day to do that.” Pansy sounded exasperated, as she always did when mentioning Percy. “Nice round numbers and all that,” she added, rolling her eyes.

Hermione stifled a chuckle. It felt like treason to side with a Parkinson over a Weasley, but she couldn’t help but agree. This was a truly strange and useless decision to make.

“What are you two up to?”

“We were looking for Draco’s gift, but I cannot, for the life of me, find anything for him. The man already has _everything_ ,” sighed Blaise.

Hermione laughed, this time openly. Mocking Malfoy was acceptable in her book, even if it was with his closest friends.

“Don’t you have an idea?” asked Pansy. She was eyeing her strangely, like she knew something Hermione didn’t.

“I don’t see how I could. He absolutely _hates_ me,” she shrugged in response.

“Maybe not as much as you think,” mumbled Blaise.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow but decided not to answer. Blaise and Pansy always tried to pretend Malfoy didn’t hate her, he simply _liked_ annoying her – she had concluded they were just ensuring their respective friendships with the Gryffindor and the Slytherin remained free of any poisonous interlap.

“Well, tell you what, if I think of anything, I’ll let you know,” she said cheerfully.

They both nodded. Pansy still looked like she knew something, and Hermione wondered whether she should press her on it. Unfortunately, the blonde Slytherin seemed to suddenly notice she was late somewhere and hurried off with Blaise.

“See you at the next book club,” she shouted as she waved her off.

Hermione smiled and waved back, before turning around and heading into Flourish and Botts. Her fingertips ran along the spines of the many books on the shelves, and she suddenly realised she had no idea what kind of book she wanted. This was a first for her.

She spent an hour perusing the vast collection at her disposal but couldn’t find anything to settle on. She was too distracted for novels, too busy for non-fiction, too literal for poetry. Stumped, she decided she’d come back another day, when she felt more inspired.

On her way out, a man draped in an absurd amount of clothes bumped violently into her, like he hadn’t seen her.

“Hey!” she interjected angrily as she tried to steady herself.

“Sorry,” mumbled the voice. It sounded more like a sneer – a sound she knew all too well.

“Malfoy?” she asked.

He turned around, revealing his face, cleverly hidden under the many layers of clothes and hats he was wearing. To her stupor, his eyes were not their usual shade of grey and blue – they were violently mauve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO I just had so much fun writing this. What are you theories??
> 
> See you soon (maybe tomorrow! otherwise on Thursday)


	8. Merry Trickmas!

_December 9 th, 2007_

Draco Malfoy was an idiot. He didn’t take any pleasure in admitting it – he had, after all, always prided himself in being of superior intellect. In fact, when he had turned up at Pansy and Blaise’s, he had been so sure that it was the right decision. They would stop him from straying from his path, they would reason with him… or, at the very least, that’s what he thought.

Once he had confessed his growing confusion to his friends, they had laughed so eruptively and loudly that, for a second, he though he had told them he’d fallen in love with Dumbledore’s ghost. He had stared at them, dumbfounded, unsure of how to react, for a long minute, before growing frustrated and angry with them.

“What is up with you two?” he had asked. “Are you high on hilarity potion?”

This hadn’t deterred them, and their laugh had grown so big it gobbled up the entire room, resonating against every wall and piece of furniture. It had only died down once they had run out of tears and their stomachs ached.

“You’re such an arse, Draco,” had said Blaise.

Draco had been outraged, but Pansy had intervened before he could answer.

“We’ve been telling you Hermione is great for _ages_! You kept running after some childhood grudge over literally nothing, not even bigotry towards Muggleborns, because you’ve let that go eons ago. Of course you’re confused as to why you hated her so much… you didn’t have a reason to, now, did you?” she had said diplomatically, though her smirk betrayed her amusement.

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next. All he knew is that she had drawn out her wand and hexed him with some curse, which had turned his eyes into a mauve colour he despised. Before he could even protest, he had been thrown out of the apartment. As she was sending him off, Pansy had told him all he needed was “a little perspective” — he still wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

Thus, on this Saturday morning, he had done his best to cover himself up and hide his new eye colour. He had tried wearing shades, but the hex didn’t allow it, his eyes laser-projecting them off his nose whenever he tried. He had given up after seeing ten pairs wrecked all over his pristine floor.

And now, there he was, on Flourish and Botts’ doorstep, staring into Granger’s eyes. It took him a minute to adjust – whatever the hex had done to him, he couldn’t see her as he usually did. He found her to be insanely cute, with her cheeks rosy from the cold December air and her curly hair softly framing her face. It was like he was seeing her from the first time.

“Whatever happened to your eyes, Malfoy?” she asked. She sounded suspicious.

“Pansy hexed me,” he answered moodily, though he wasn’t sure what warranted this. She was being perfectly pleasant – her voice wasn’t grating on his nerves like it usually did.

Granger laughed and he soon found himself joining into the laughter. “I do look ridiculous, don’t I?” he managed to say.

“You really do,” she answered. She was folded over her stomach, too entranced in her laughter to care how it looked. “How long will it last? Clarke will _not_ like that,” she added.

“I don’t have a sodding clue. Pansy never said,” he moaned. “I didn’t even think her capable of performing such a spell.”

“Oh, she’s really good with hexes and minor curses,” smirked Granger. “She hexed Ron, once.”

“What?” Draco was astounded. “When? She never told me!”

“Well, you did inform her you never wanted to hear a thing about her ‘Gryffindor friends’,” reasoned Granger.

On any other day, Draco would have interpreted this as an attack, a mockery. He would have shouted, belittled her, or replied in like with something mean. On this day, however, he couldn’t quite notice the mockery in her voice — he took it as it sounded, as a fact. Which it was, because he remembered quite well telling Pansy she could befriend the enemy, but he didn’t want to hear about it, _ever._

“Right. I should reconsider that rule. So, what happened to Weasley?”

Granger frowned for an instant — it was so quick he wasn’t quite sure she had done it. He realised his niceness must appear very suspicious to her.

“He was drunk and he tried to make out with her,” she replied, unable to hide the smile on the corner of her mouth.

“What an arse. Wasn’t he going out with you?”

She was surprised. “No, Ron and I never dated,” she simply said. Silence settled between them. Draco desperately wanted to say something, but he found both his mind and throat to be dry. Granger shifted her weight from one foot to another for a moment, before jotting a quick look at her wrist, adorned by a discrete watch. “Oh, would you look at the time! I have to go! See you at work, Malfoy,” she waved as she disappeared into the foggy distance.

Draco scratched his head. This encounter had been short, rather uneventful, but it had made all the difference in the world. He wondered many things about the spell — was it meant to make him attracted to Granger? polite? nice? None of the options seemed to fit quite right — he hadn’t feel forced to be nice to her, he had chosen it. Perhaps the spell had ensured she seemed soft-spoken and sweet — but he knew this was wrong too. Granger hadn’t actually been all that different from her usual demeanor… he’d just been too dumb to correctly assess her for the past five years. He knew this to be true because he remembered enjoying shopping with her just a couple of days ago. When he hadn’t yet been hexed by his so-called best friend.

Shaking his head with frustration, Draco decided to drive this train of thought right in the back of his mind, where it would wait for him to truly pay it any attention. He pushed the door of Flourish and Botts and tried to focus on his original goal: finding a book to get rid of the hex. Identifying would be helpful, of course, but he was sure there was some counter-curse out there to help him.

Unfortunately, as he wandered from shelf to shelf, he found himself to be incredibly unfocused. The train of thought he had shoved so carelessly in the back of his mind kept moving, invading his every thought. He couldn’t stop thinking about Granger. Not _that way_ , thank you very much. No, he kept questioning how he had missed the mark so spectacularly, how he had been so blind that he never considered she had grown, changed, evolved. She wasn’t that insufferable know-it-all anymore. Maybe she still _did_ know it all (how much could one truly change, anyway?), but her general demeanor had shifted.

As his eyes landed on the curse section of the bookshop, it suddenly dawned on him what Pansy’s hex was. It was the Clear View Jinx… of course. It had to be. Just as he realised that, he saw a flash and closed his eyes — and, sure enough, the reflection in the bookshop’s front window showed him his eyes had returned to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! It’s already 2021 where I live, so I hope you all find health, success and happiness in the upcoming year. See you soon!


	9. Stubborn as a Reindeer

_December 10 th, 2007_

Sunday brunches were now a long-standing tradition. They had begun when Hermione had introduced her closest friends to her newly made friends — the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. The very first brunch had been a fiasco — Ron had been hexed by Pansy after attempting to make out with her (he’d had one too many mimosas), Harry and Theo had had a heated argument about Quidditch, prompting Blaise to intervene and subsequently take Harry to the bathroom, for what Hermione suspected to be more of a lovers’ affair than an enemies’ duel. Nevertheless, they had kept up the tradition, to Hermione’s greatest pleasure. Malfoy had been the only one to ever refuse to join, despite numerous invitations sent out by Pansy, Blaise and Theo. That was, until this very Sunday morning. Hermione was getting ready to leave when she was Floo’d by Pansy, who informed her Malfoy had not only agreed to come but even asked to be included. Too astounded to logically think this out at first, Hermione had taken about an hour to come to the conclusion that he had done this to get a rise out of her, to try offsetting her and winning the bet, like everything strange he had done lately.

She hesitated long between her sunflower-yellow dress and her burgundy jumpsuit. She wondered which colour would anger Malfoy more – he wanted to play? She was going to play. She finally settled in the jumpsuit, which she assorted with a couple of golden accessories (she had never been one for jewellery, but her grandmother had left her a couple of beautiful golden pieces, which she enjoyed wearing on very rare occasions) and the only pair of fancy boots she owned (pretty shoes were too uncomfortable and impractical for her but owning at least one pair made sense). Finally satisfied with her full-blown Gryffindor look, she slipped on her coat and walked out, ready to conquer this brunch.

She was shocked to see Malfoy was already there. An early-riser and an organised mind, Hermione always made it far too ahead of time – so much so that the restaurant they had elected for their weekly meetings knew their one o’clock reservation actually meant twelve thirty. It was strange to find herself beaten to the punch by the one meant who had thoroughly hated those brunches and thought of every imaginable excuse to avoid them.

“Hi, Granger,” he said softly, grinning at her. He gestured towards the chair to his right. “Care to seat with me?”

Hermione frowned. It would be rude to say no, but, then again, when had he ever been polite? She bit her tongue – stooping to his level wasn’t something she had ever done or planned on ever doing.

“Sure,” she chose to respond, moving swiftly between the neighbouring tables to get to his side. He got up, pulled out her chair and helped her move closer to the table once she was sat.

“I’m not a toddler, Malfoy. I know how to use a chair,” she said irritably. She couldn’t find it in her to thank him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Force of habit.”

She ignored his comment and stared at the menu facing her. She already knew what they offered and had her meal all planned out (scrambled eggs with salmon and fresh chives, a waffle with maple syrup, orange juice and a macchiato) but Malfoy made her nervous and she needed a distraction.

Suddenly, it dawned on her that his eyes weren’t mauve anymore.

“Did you manage to remove that hex?” she asked, her stare still fixated on the menu.

“I did, actually. A good thing for sure, seeing as I don’t think Clarke would have taken to it well when I have a court date coming up so soon.”

Hermione nodded silently. She wanted to ask him what the hex did, how he removed it. Her curiosity was slowly overtaking her desire to ignore him. She bit the inside of her cheek, glancing over the list of available drinks without really seeing them. Finally, she gave up.

“So, what was that hex, then?” she asked, putting the menu down.

He shot her a surprised look. “Don’t you know?”

She made a strange noise with her mouth, irritated. “I may be dubbed a “know-it-all”, Malfoy, but I don’t actually know _everything_ ,” she muttered.

“Right. I just assumed Pansy told you,” he explained.

She wasn’t given the time to answer. Right at that time, their friends showed up.

“Look at you two, sitting next to each other,” purred Pansy with a smirk as she sat next to Hermione.

Ron and Harry shot Hermione a curious look, but she dismissed it and greeted them with a smile. Blaise and Theo sat next to each other, between Harry and Draco. Hermione noticed the cheeky stare Blaise had for Harry and bit her lip to avoid laughing. Those two really thought they were subtle, when everyone knew they had been hooking up for _years._

“Nice of you to show up, Draco,” said Theo neutrally. While he had always had a quiet voice, a silent demeanour, he wasn’t to be trusted. Theo possessed a rare quality: an unsettling honesty and a way with words and sarcasm that always made Hermione shiver. She was grateful he never used it on her – Malfoy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care and responded earnestly.

“Yes, I thought it was about time I saw what these brunches were all about.”

“Does this mean you’re revoking your “no Gryffindor talk” rule?” asked Pansy cheekily.

Malfoy clicked his tongue, seemingly annoyed. “Sure. It wouldn’t make much sense for me to be here, otherwise, would it?”

Pansy smirked. “Some spells really have a way of giving you _perspective_ , don’t they?”

Hermione was confused. She could tell there was some subtext she was missing – the others, though, were either in on the joke or did not care enough to pay any attention.

“What’s on your mind, Pansy? Why don’t you tell everyone?” Malfoy was grinning and Pansy scowled.

“What are you on about?” asked Hermione, fed up with the tacit accusations.

“Yes, Pansy, why don’t you explain to Hermione here what that was all about?” encouraged Malfoy. Hermione picked up on his use of her first name and decided against mentioning it, for fear it would give Pansy an opportunity to avoid answering the question.

“I really didn’t mean anything by it,” she stated. “Draco, you know having one too many mimosas before noon never does _anyone_ any good,” she added, staring intently at Ron, who turned a bright crimson at the insinuation.

Malfoy didn’t retort, and Hermione pursed her lips, frustrated. They didn’t want her to know? Fine. She’d make it her mission to know. There was no separating Hermione Granger from knowledge, and they would regret ever forgetting it.

The server came by to take their orders and silence settled at the table. Hermione wanted to cut it with a knife – she hated feeling like the last fool at the table.

“How’s the Belmore case going?” asked Malfoy once their plates were settled in front of them. He had ordered the scrambled eggs with salmon, just like her.

“Uh… fine. I have a court date in two weeks,” answered Hermione, digging into her plate.

“I took a look at the brief, you know,” he said.

She side-eyed him. Did he really think she didn’t know this? It was the entire reason they had been forced into the party planning committee in the first place. Him taking that brief and pretending he had given it to the intern.

“And what about it?” Her voice was on edge. If he dared step a toe out of line, she would pounce.

“Well, I think you could really win. Your defence sounds brilliant,” he shrugged after having swallowed a bite of his eggs.

This proved to be too much for Hermione. She didn’t know what he was up to, but the nicer he became, the more flustered she was. He was trying to throw off her game – she hadn’t expected it to work. Frustrated with him, with Pansy, with herself, she threw her napkin on the table and promptly left the restaurant.


End file.
